'So, how did Baskerville go?' Florence asked an hour later. She had showered, and was pulling a light jacket over her shirt. Ever since she had been back, she had developed a little style. It mainly consisted of white, long-sleeved shirts, and either jumpers or jackets. Sherlock didn't like it that much, but he had said it suited her, so she went with it.
'It went as well as could be expected. Nearly got caught, but...' Sherlock trailed off. 'Well, let's just say a second-hand "friend" saved us from being potentially arrested.'
'Huh. A friend of Mycroft's?' Florence was standing as she towelled her long hair dry.
'I think so. Apparently, they met at some meeting at some club. He knew who we were though. Said he didn't recognise me without that fucking hat.'
Florence snickered. Sherlock noted on how quickly her mood had changed from earlier. She had been sullen, almost upset. He didn't just think it was her hormones. He smiled dismissively, his mind switching to thinking mode. She got the message immediately and went to brush her hair.
Henry Knight's home was massive. It was quite clear that he lived alone, entirely based on the fact that the outside was completely untamed – it looked like a miniature jungle.
Sherlock, John and Florence walked into the small conservatory, which was as uncared for as the exterior of the house. The paint was cracked and peeling, and several spider's webs covered the filthy windows. Sherlock rapped his knuckles against the door, and Henry opened it.
The house was even grander inside, and John remarked at how beautiful everything was inside. 'This is...' he began, before stumbling a little. 'Are you... rich?'
'Yeah.' Henry said casually.
'Right.' John tried to ignore the look Sherlock gave him before following Henry into the kitchen. Sherlock and John sat down, but Florence stayed standing. She was very aware of the fact that Henry kept looking at her inquisitively, and also aware of the fact he had no idea who she was, and vice versa.
'Ah, Henry,' Sherlock began, gesturing to Florence with one hand. 'This is Florence. She's an old... friend.'
Florence nodded at Henry, who nodded back, before turning around to look at the large garden. They walked into the kitchen.
'It's a couple of words.' Henry began, looking down at the central island Sherlock and John were sitting at. 'It's what I keep seeing. Liberty...'
John, sensing that this was important, got out a notebook and began to write the word down. 'Liberty.' he repeated.
'Liberty and... in. Just that.' he turned around to put some milk in the fridge, and John turned to the other two, who were both watching Henry intently.
'Mean anything to you?'
Florence stepped closer to them. 'Liberty in death – the only true freedom.' she muttered softly. Sherlock nodded in agreement.
'What now, then?' Henry said, turning back to face them.
'Sherlock's got a plan.' John said, and looked at Sherlock to continue.
'Right,' Henry said, leaning forward slightly.
'We take you back to the moor,' Sherlock began, his voice serious. 'And see if anything attacks you.'
'What?' John exclaimed, and Florence raised an eyebrow from behind them.
'That should bring things to a head.' Sherlock continued; his voice steady.
'At night? You want me to go out there at night?' Sherlock made an agreeing noise.
'That's your plan?' John said, snorting. 'Brilliant.' he said sarcastically.
'Look at it another way, John,' Florence said, stepping forward and resting her elbows on the island. 'have we got any better ideas?'
'But... that's not a plan.'
Sherlock sighed. 'Listen. If there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do – find out where it lives.' He turned to Henry and smiled in a way he probably thought was encouraging, but very much was not. Florence grimaced, and cast an apologetic look towards Henry.
It was clear they were in for a rough night.
The moor was dark and somewhat misty. Henry led the way, using a torch to navigate their way across the uneven forest floor. The air was eery, and the presence of owls above made it feel like a cheesy horror movie.
Florence didn't like it at all. She hated the dark, and she was visibly shaking, which she tried to control whenever Sherlock looked behind him.
'Met a friend of yours.' the detective began, trying desperately to break the silence.
'What?'
'Doctor Frankland.'
'Oh, right – Bob. Yeah.'
'Seems pretty concerned about you.'
'He's a worrier, bless him. He's been very kind to me since I came back.' Henry jumped over a ditch, and after Sherlock had, he extended a hand to help Florence across. She thanked him, but jumped over on her own.
'He knew your father.' Sherlock continued, pausing to allow Henry to take the lead once more.
'Yeah.'
'But he works at Baskerville. Didn't your dad have a problem with that?'
'Well, mates are mates, aren't they? I mean, look at you and John.' Sherlock frowned, and Florence bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.
'What about us?'
'Well, I mean, he's a pretty straightforward bloke, and you...' he glanced behind him to look at Sherlock, and, seeing the look on Sherlock's face and the visible laughter on Florence's, he did not continue. He started walking again. 'They agreed never to talk about work.' He pointed his torch and nodded to the left. 'Dewer's Hollow.' he muttered. He clearly wasn't pleased.
Sherlock began to stumble down into the hollow, Florence hard on his trail. He was shining his torch around the floor idly as he descended, Henry following reluctantly.
The torch beam caught many large paw prints, causing Florence's heart rate to quicken.
Suddenly, a long, ear-splitting howl echoed around the hollow. Sherlock, surprised, shined his torch in the direction of the sound.
His face fell in horror, and Florence brought her hand to her mouth and bit hard to stop herself from screaming.
Whatever it was growled menacingly, before retreating hastily into the shadows. Sherlock tried to follow it with his torch, but it had already gone.
Henry came up behind them as Florence began to shake, saying 'oh my God' over and over, as if that would help calm his nerves.
'Did you see it?' he asked, his voice quivering. He looked at them both. Sherlock's head was down, his brow furrowed. Florence was just as blank, but she was nodding slightly.
John came crashing into the Hollow, making Florence jump. 'Did you hear that?' he said.
'We saw it.' Henry said frantically. 'We saw it.'
'No,' Sherlock said, beginning back up the Hollow's sides. 'I didn't see anything.' He rushed straight past John. Florence looked at him, puzzled. Hadn't they been together? Hadn't she watched his face contort?
'What are you talking about?' Henry said, just as puzzled. He followed Sherlock up the hill, catching up with him. Sherlock turned, his eyes burning.
'I. Didn't. See. Anything.'
Florence laid on her bed, the lights on. She had turned the only mirror in the room away from her – from the angle it was at, she could see behind her, at the darkness of outside. Her phone lay face down on the sheets. It quietly buzzed in her hand, but she did not look at it. She knew who was trying to contact her.
Gently, she got up, careful not to see her phone screen. She didn't want to see his name. She hurried down the corridor, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she felt phantom eyes on her back. The Hound was mentally torturing her.
The bar wasn't too far. She just had to reach the end of the corridor, and go down the stairs. She prayed neither Sherlock or John were there already.
She could hear the pleasant thrall of the pub, and quickened her pace. It made her feel strange, being in the corridor alone, when there was so many people below her.
'Oh no you don't.' Sherlock's stern, deep voice startling her, she spun around quickly, almost hitting her head on the abnormally high windowsill.
'One.' Florence replied, her voice desperate. 'After today. I need it.'
'No. We're in this together, Flo. I lay off the smoke, and you forever keep away from the intoxicating substances.'
'I know.' she said quietly. 'You saw it, didn't you?' she asked, fully aware of the risks of her question.
Sherlock stared at her – a long and hard stare that went straight through her. Eventually he nodded. 'We should go and sit. Get a coke. Really talk. I realise I've been a bit... distant. I want to correct that.'
Minutes later, they were sitting by the fireplace, the flames in the hearth warming Florence's feet uncomfortably.
'It was so big.' she whispered after a while, sipping her Coke delicately. She realised as some of the liquid spilled onto her lap that she was shaking, so she put it down. She wondered why she kept drinking these drinks, she really didn't like them. 'And its eyes...' she trailed off, her eyes closing. Sherlock watched her breathe in. 'Let's distract ourselves. Just for now. Let's get lost in conversation. We can worry about the hound later.'
Sherlock tried to smile. 'Okay. Uh... what's your favourite colour?'
'It hasn't changed.'
'Green, then.' he watched as the light from the fire made Florence's eyes look like glittering emeralds.
'Mhm. And yours is still indigo?' He nodded. 'This is going surprisingly well, seeing as neither of us are conversationalists.' she smiled, and Sherlock mimicked her expression.
He laughed slightly. 'We've only asked one question.'
'What did you do when I was gone? Like, what did you do? It's been this long, and I'm still not sure.'
'Apart from trying to find you?' Sherlock asked. Florence nodded, her smile fading slightly. 'Well, I posted to the website. I post relatively frequently, mainly trying to make people less thick.' Florence laughed.
'Did you put that thing about the tattoos?'
'No!' Sherlock gasped mockingly. 'That will be my next project.'
Florence smiled, tilting her head at him. She held out her hand over the arm of the chair, and he took it. 'I missed you.' she said, her face suddenly serious. 'There was not a single day where I didn't think about you, and when I hadn't regretted what I had done. Even when I was with Arthur's lot, you were always there. I missed you so much.'
'Why,' Sherlock began. 'Why did you leave?'
'I don't know. It was the anniversary of my mother's death. I was getting increasingly suicidal. And you...' she breathed in shakily, and Sherlock frowned. 'I can't remember much about the first few days, but I think I must have had some sort of breakdown, and before I knew it I was being kicked and punched and all manners of pain was being inflicted to me on the street side.' Florence closed her eyes again, her brow furrowing in distress. Sherlock squeezed her hand reassuringly.
'I haven't been much of a friend recently, but... I'll try to do better. To you and John. Not get angry so often, not shut you out. I know I did that, after I said I wouldn't. I was completely aware it was happening, but I just didn't... know how to stop it. But now, I know how to stop it, and I will.' he said, his voice determined. He looked at her directly, and she looked at him back.
'Thank you,' she whispered, before taking another sip of her Coke and leaving.#
Sherlock had reported Florence's disappearance to the police. They said they'd do everything they could, and Sherlock had got angry, saying that that was a stupid thing to say. He then calmed down and offered his assistance. They accepted, slightly startled, to say the least.
He was noticing her absence more and more each day. He would sometimes talk to her, or laugh at something and look to where she should be. It was a miserable existence.
Mycroft had come to see him, to tell him they'd found nothing "as yet". Sherlock had glared at him, and not said a word.
'Look, brother mine, we're trying our hardest. Believe me, I... I care as well. The second we hear anything, we'll tell you. So stop being so ungrateful, get out of this strop, and lend a bloody hand.'
Sherlock stared at him, startled. Mycroft's facial expression softened as he realised what he had said. 'I'm...' he began. 'My condolences, Sherlock. Really. I miss her too.' And with that, he was gone, leaving Sherlock none the wiser and in a state worse than death.
Okay. this one is a bit longer, hallelujah! hopefully some better ones soon 3
